Chapter 6 - The Half Step Back
The blades stayed where they were for another breath, cold against the back of my knuckles. I could feel the metal through the weave of the curtain, that off-white heavy fabric bunched tight in my fist. My fingers had gone numb from holding it, and the windowsill cut into the soles of my feet through my shoes.
Daniel didn't look at me. He looked at the place where the scissors touched the curtain, like if he stared hard enough the spot would make sense.
"Daniel," I said. It came out thinner than I wanted. I swallowed and tried again. "Why are they up that high?"
He blinked. His mouth moved, but nothing came out at first.
Behind him, his mother shifted her weight. I saw it out of the corner of my eye, the flash of her dark green blouse, the catch of light on her pearl necklace. She didn't speak, but her silence pressed in anyway.
The housekeeper was still kneeling below me, both hands locked around the lower curtain. Her gray bun had loosened, strands stuck to her neck. She was breathing hard, but she didn't let go.
Daniel's hand trembled. Just a little. Enough that the black handle knocked once against his own thumb.
"You said—" I stopped. My calf was starting to shake. I locked my knee to still it. "You told me there was a loose thread. At the bottom. Near the hem."
That was how it had started. Not with shouting. He'd come in with the big scissors from the sewing room, the ones with the heavy black handles, and he'd said Mom noticed a loose thread hanging by the sheers. He'd knelt down like he was going to snip it clean.
I remembered the sound of his shoes on the wood floor. I remembered thinking it was such a normal thing.
He nodded now, a quick jerk of his chin. "Yeah," he said. His voice was rough. "Yeah, that's — she said to cut it. The thread."
"Then why higher?" I asked.
He didn't answer. His eyes flicked to his mother and then back to the fabric.
The housekeeper looked up at him. "Tell her," she said. She wasn't shouting now. She was low and steady. "Tell her what your mother told you after that."
Daniel's jaw worked. Sweat stood along his hairline, his short dark hair damp at the temples. His gray button-down shirt pulled tight across his shoulders from the angle he held his arm.
"She said—" He cleared his throat. "She said the drape was snagged. Up near—" He gestured with his chin toward my hands. "Near where you're holding. She said to just cut it free."
I stared at him. The sheer curtain behind me moved with the air from the cracked window, soft against my back. The daylight was so bright it hurt.
"Cut it free while I'm holding it?" I said.
It wasn't loud. I didn't mean it to be a challenge. I just needed him to hear how it sounded.
He flinched. "No. I mean — she didn't — I wasn't going to—"
"Daniel." His mother's voice cut in, sharp and even. "Don't."
He didn't turn to her. He kept looking at my hands.
"I asked why you raised them higher," I said. "You were down by the floor. With the thread."
My arm was burning now from gripping above my head. The maternity dress clung to my back. I tried to shift my weight without moving my feet on the narrow sill, but there wasn't anywhere to go.
"I don't know," he said.
It came out too fast. He shook his head, once, like he wanted to take it back and find a better answer.
"You don't know?" I said.
"I didn't — I just did what she said." His fingers tightened on the scissors, then loosened. "She said cut. She kept saying—"
He stopped. His eyes finally lifted to my face. For a second he looked eighteen instead of thirty-something, caught between us.
"Why higher, Daniel?" I asked again. Quiet this time.
His lips parted. No sound. He looked down at the scissors like he'd forgotten they were in his hand. The tension went out of his wrist all at once, and the blades tipped away from the fabric, just an inch. Then another inch.
He took a half-step back. His heel scraped the floor. It wasn't much, but it was enough that the brown belt at his waist caught the light differently, enough that I could breathe without feeling the shake of his arm through the curtain.
The scissors no longer touched the fabric.
I didn't move. I didn't dare loosen my grip. My hands stayed where they were, high on that off-white drape, knuckles white.
May you like
Below me, the housekeeper exhaled. I felt it more than heard it, a loosening in the curtain where she held it.
Daniel stared at the gap between the blades and the cloth. He didn't lower the scissors. He didn't drop them. He just stood there, frozen in that half-step back, his arm hanging in the air, unable to answer me.
